SEVEN
Geranium
Saturday...
Bangs echo loud and my eyes snap open. For a panicked second, I can’t remember where I am. Every part of me Dan isn’t touching feels cold. Even with so little light, I can see my own breath rising like fog. The early morning glows blue through the windshield and my throat feels dry.
“Open up,” a voice barks from outside. “I know you’re in there.”
“Fuck.” Dan rubs his eyes and whispers, “Put your clothes on, babe.”
Babe. The way he said it was so tender, so familiar. I pull on my dress and he tugs on a shirt before wrenching open the back door. There’s an assault of bright light and I shield my eyes on instinct.
“Your vehicle is parked unlawfully. And I’m going to need to conduct a sobriety test before I can allow you to drive.”
“Yeah, sorry, Officer,” Dan says.
The cop shifts his flashlight and I can finally see him clearly. His grey crew cut is as standard issue as his paunch but his eyes shine an unexpected shade of topaz. The combination reminds me of an owl.
He asks Dan to blow into a Breathalyzer and runs his license for outstanding warrants. I’m relieved when Dan checks out on both counts.
“Excuse me, miss? Young lady?” The policeman’s flashlight bounces back on me and I squint. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“All right, well.” He gives the side of the truck a slap. “Better get on your way then.”
Humiliation stings as I climb into the front seat and hug my sweater tight across my chest.
“Hey.” Dan settles down behind the wheel and kisses my cheek. “It’s okay.”
The ignition shudders and I check my phone. Five missed calls from my mom and a text from Hannah.
So I guess ur “sleeping over at my house”. Don’t worry…“my mom” confirmed when Audrey called ;)
Hannah has always had a shockingly similar phone-voice to her mom. Relieved, I text her back a long, caps-locked thank you. As soon as the engine warms up, we blast the heater and let hot air blow over us. I finally relax from our sudden awakening just as we pull onto 75.
A bright-red heart peeks out from under Dan’s sleeve. Even though his biceps is mostly covered by t-shirt, I know that the tattoo includes a loop of gray ribbon emblazoned with the word “Mom”. It occurs to me that I don’t know her name.
“Elenore,” he says when I ask. “She went by Lyn.”
“It was cancer, right?”
“Yeah. I was in junior high when she got diagnosed.” Something only faintly resembling a laugh rises from his chest. “It was the only reason Dad ever stopped hitting her.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t think he needs me to say anything.
“I started taking off school to take care of her,” he goes on. “She was on this really intense chemo and anyway, I ended up having to repeat eighth grade. After she died, I started selling her leftover painkillers.”
“Is that why you went to that school in Texas?”
“That was part of it.” He scratches his neck. “It wasn’t really a school though. They called it a ‘residential teen treatment center’. Pretty much just a jail for kids who pissed off their parents. We didn’t really have classes or anything.”
“What did you do?”
“A lot of heavy labor. They had this whole Tough Love philosophy but mostly I think they just wanted to tire us out so people wouldn’t fight so much. I dunno… I spent most of it in isolation because I kept tattooing myself. My safety pin was really small so I hid it in my t-shirt tag and they never found it.”
“God,” I breathe. “How did you pass the time?”
“Reading.” He shrugs. “Or I could space out for hours doing a tattoo. Once I did over a thousand crunches in a single day.”
“That explains a lot,” I say, remembering the deep shadows carving his torso.
He smiles at me sheepishly.
A new text from Hannah rattles my phone and I start.
Ur up early.
So are you, I type back.
Still awake. Went to a rave with K last night. Lightweight stranded in Detroit, nbd.
Well, shit. I tell Dan about how much Hannah has covered for me. We make up a reasonably convincing story before turning back around.
Neither Hannah nor Kayla knows exactly where they are so we spend a long time circling abandoned warehouses “by the water”. Finally, I spot two girls in miniskirts and fairy wings shivering on a curb.
“Han!” I crank down my window. “Kayla!”
“Sophie!” they squeal, clutching each other as they hop to their feet.
“Looks like they’re still rolling,” Dan mutters.
Plastic beaded bracelets crowd their arms past their elbows and glitter crusts their faces. Once they get close, I can see their chapped lips and gaping pupils.
“Oh my god you are a princess,” Hannah says. “A beautiful, beautiful princess. You know you’re my best friend. And Kayla’s my best friend. You guys are my best friends…”
A constant stream of love and happiness tumbles out of her mouth while Dan opens up the back. When they climb inside, both girls start gasping about the softness of the blankets. Dan’s tattoos stretch as he twists the steering wheel.
“Your brother’s hot,” Kayla hollers from the backseat. “Daniel, you’re hot.”
“Shut up!” Hannah giggles.
“Thank you, Kayla,” he says in a wry monotone.
“Remember when…” She climbs up onto her knees and leans against the back of my seat. “Remember when I used to fuck what’s-his-name? Your friend?”
“José,” Dan says.
“Yeah.” She slides her teeth over her lips a few times. “Who’s Sophie’s boyfriend?”
“It’s a secret!” Hannah cries from the backseat.
Kayla starts to pet my hair. “Do I know him?”
“Not really,” he says.
“Oh! By the way!” She slaps his shoulder. “Hannah wants to know if you’re single.”
In the rearview mirror, Hannah throws her arms over her face. “Oh my god, shut up!”
“I am not single,” he says. “And you should sit down before we get into an accident.”
Once the girls are back to whispering and stroking each other’s hair, Dan gives my knee a gentle squeeze.
“You’re so lucky, Sophie,” Kayla says. “I wish my brother chauffeured me to and from hookups… My brother sucks.”
Since she lives farthest away, we drop Kayla off first. Crisp white houses sit far back from the street behind manicured lawns and rose bushes. Kayla directs us to a sprawling Colonial on the corner and we slow to a stop. As a token of thanks, she offers Dan and I some of her mom’s Valium. Only Hannah takes one, “for the come-down”.
“Dry-swallow that shit,” Kayla says before jumping onto the concrete. “Later, bitches.”
Dan doesn’t drive away until we’ve watched the crimson doors close behind her. It’s a few minutes before Hannah says she’s lonely so I climb into the back beside her. She traces the curves of my face with her fingers and talks about how thick my hair is. I can tell she’s crashing because every tape Dan owns gets rejected as “too sad”. While I’ve never taken ecstasy, I know how serotonin works. I try to think of something we both know the words to and start singing Arcade Fire. She joins in once the Valium kicks in.
Lying on our sides, we harmonize in brittle falsettos as the truck bounces over potholes. “Dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains...”
Hannah’s street is a lot like mine only the houses are two stories and more weathered. When we park, she points out that her mom will be getting back from her shift at Walmart in a few hours. If I come in with her, it’ll help shore up my alibi. More than that, I think Hannah wants the company.
“Also shower,” she says. “You look like you’ve been ravaged.”
Dan raises his eyebrows when she isn’t looking. I decide not to point out that she’s wearing crumpled fairy wings.
Hopping out of the car, I hate that I can only wave goodbye to him.
He says, “See you at home.”
I say, “Yeah.”
Last night and the bar in the city suddenly all feel very far away.
After a very hot shower in Hannah’s tiny bathroom, I towel my hair while she tries to find something that’ll fit me. Though not as gangly as she was in middle school, her hips and chest are still very small. Eventually, she finds some stretchy leggings and an old flannel of mine I forgot she even had.
Her bedroom is almost exactly the same as I remember it. Posters of English boy bands no longer hang above her bed but the white patch of spackle next to her door still hasn’t been painted over. Flopping down onto her comforter, I look up at the collage spreading across her wall. Newer photos of her friends from Missouri line the edges but the center is forcefully familiar. I remember so many mornings staring up at these pictures in the time before she woke up.
“Oh my god.” I slide a finger over an old photo booth strip from eighth grade. “Kayla’s braces.”
“And look at Davina.” She points to a group shot of our junior high camping trip. Davina still wore plastic beads at the ends of her braids then.
Various other preteen embarrassments stand out: me with my mouth stuffed full of marshmallows, a series of images showing Hannah and I posing with a plastic bag that once had some significance, a short-lived mall-goth phase that would be better left forgotten.
“Ew,” she says. “I should get rid of this one.”
It’s an unflattering picture from Hannah’s thirteenth birthday, shot from above. At that angle, her thighs look almost as narrow as her scrawny arms. That was the era when she subsisted on a diet of celery, plain yogurt and spearmint gum. She tugs the photo off the wall and the tape rips white strips into the paper.
All at once, I want to tell her the truth. A truth. Anything. Looking at our younger selves smiling from the wall, arms wrapped tight around each other, I realize how distant I’ve been ever since she moved back. I think a part of me resented her for leaving. Or maybe I blamed her because things started going so wrong once she was gone. When I try to turn my feelings into words, I finally see how stupid I’ve been.
“I think my mom and Frank are gonna break up soon,” I say instead. “Or, I hope they break up soon. It’s gotten really bad.”
Hannah looks at me for a long time, but it isn’t awkward. “Does he… Is it physical?”
“He hasn’t hit her,” I say, but the word yet hangs on my lips unspoken.
“Does he hit Dan?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I mean, I’d notice if he did.”
“Maybe.” She lies back on the bed. “But maybe not. My mom didn’t know about Leo until, you know…” Until he broke Hannah’s arm in two places. “Even after the hospital and the social services thing, Mom still believed him that it was an accident.”
I lay my head on the pillow next to her. “What made her finally divorce him?”
“He started beating her up after I moved to Missouri.”
“Shit.” I breathe. “Hannah?”
“Mm?”
“I’m sorry.”
She rolls over to face me. “Why?”
“I just am. I don’t think I’ve been a very good friend.”
“You’re just private, is all.” She shrugs. “And besides, you’re telling me the truth now.”
Wednesday...
When I come home from school, Mom makes Dan drive her to the supermarket so she can take another shot at her Brady Bunch fantasy. Sitting up in bed, I delete strings of unread texts and private messages from Stuart. He’s in almost as many AP classes as I am so I’d just assumed he’d lose steam during exam week. He hasn’t.
A gentle knock sounds on my door and I look up, confused. Dan’s Chevy still hasn’t returned from its grocery run.
“Hello?”
“Sophia?” It’s Frank. “Do you have a second?”
Wary, I twist open the lock on my door.
He grimaces. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Can I come in?”
“Uh. Sure.” I pull the door open and kick a pair of jeans out of the way.
He hesitantly follows me inside. My room doesn’t seem big enough for him. This is the first time he’s ever been in here. Not sure what else to do, I perch on the side of my bed. He looks around before tugging back my desk chair. It’s stacked with books and folders.
“Here, I can—” I start to stand.
“No. No.” He raises a hand. “I got it.”
My eyes trace his movements as he carefully relocates Shakespeare and Brontë. There’s a bra dangling from my dresser drawer behind him but I don’t think he’s noticed. Once we’re both seated, facing each other, I feel very unsure what to do with my hands. He seems to be equally confused about that particular issue.
“Listen.” He leans forward. “I want you to know you can talk to me.”
“I know,” I say, but I’m not sure why. Frank has never been someone I really talked to.
“If you’re ever having a problem or you need my help with something, I’m right here.”
Are you though? It’s hard to imagine a situation where I’d need his help. Or when would be the right time to ask. I wonder if he’d prefer I wake him up when he’s snoring on the couch or if it would be better to seek out his sagely guidance when he’s punching holes in the paneling.
“Daniel’s given me a lot of trouble over the years,” he says. “Ever since his mom passed.”
My stomach clenches.
“I know what he’s like,” Frank goes on. “If he ever bothers you or makes you feel uncomfortable—”
“Dan doesn’t bother me,” I say too quickly. “We’re friends.”
“Well. I just want you to know if he’s ever a problem, I can set him straight.”
My throat feels very dry and I think I’m blinking more than normal. “There’s no problem.”
Silence rings loud in my ears. Frank holds my gaze before finally creaking up from the chair. “Just remember you can always come to me.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
The door doesn’t shut all the way behind him. As soon as his footsteps fade, I tap my phone and purge it of every text message I’ve ever traded with “Ethan”. One particular photo is difficult to part with. I look at the drape of the sheets around Dan’s hips, the silly thumbs-up, the bleary smile. Then I press delete.
Crashing, distorted music growls in the distance. Speakers crackle from the stress of blasting at full volume. I recognize the song—a demo from Dan’s friend José’s old band, Gutterfuck. Even Dan couldn’t find it in himself to say they were any good.
“Fallacies! Fallacies! Fallacy-hees!”
The turquoise Chevy parks outside my window and José’s rasping shouts come to an abrupt stop. Mom’s angry voice soon fills the space.
“Can’t even get a peaceful ride to the store” and “This is the thanks I get for wanting to make you a nice dinner” and “I’m not sure why I even bother”.
Inside, groceries slam onto counters while she continues to chide him.
“Sophia!” she barks. “A little help, please.”
I join them in the kitchen and Dan gives me a smirk. A single peppermint waits on the counter beside the plastic bags. Unloading cereal, canned vegetables and boxes of instant rice, I struggle to figure out where everything should go. It’s more food than I can ever remember having.
“I was thinking we’d do burgers.” Mom sounds manic as she stuffs relish into the fridge. “Frank can fire up the grill and we can eat outside.”
Glancing through the window at the rotting, rain-bleached patio furniture, I seriously doubt it would be up to holding our weight.
“Sophie’s a vegetarian,” Dan says.
Mom clanks a jar of Miracle Whip onto the counter and cradles her brow.
“Shit,” she hisses. “Shit. Honey.” Her hands close on my shoulders. “I forgot, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, Mom. Really. Here.” I tug a can of baked beans out of a bag. “I can use this. It’ll be like a Sloppy Joe.”
Her thumbs brush my cheeks and her eyes shine wet. Pulling away, I remind her that I’m supposed to be studying for tomorrow’s AP exams.
She gives me a damp smile before whispering, “Okay.”
Back in my room, I pull out the test prep book I checked out from the library. It’s a few years out of date but I’m pretty sure calculus hasn’t changed too dramatically in that time. Flipping ahead to the practice exam at the back, I’m annoyed to see some previous reader used pen to fill in the bubbles. Then again, they identified the limit of f(g(x)) as D, “nonexistent”. The correct answer is C.
I slide my scratch paper to cover the dubiously blackened bubbles and try my hand at the questions.
Mom’s voice sounds stiff in the kitchen. “You’re gonna have a beer? Now?”
The fridge door slaps shut. “Jesus. How much do you want from me?”
“Don’t you remember what we talked about?”
“It’s one beer, Aud.”
“And after that? I don’t want you setting the house on fire by grilling hammered.”
“Fine. Where’s the charcoal?”
Clunk. “I didn’t get any charcoal.”
“Can’t grill without charcoal, Aud.”
“Do I have to do everything? Can’t you take responsibility for the one little thing you said you were gonna do?”
I put on my headphones and turn up the volume. Sharp grooves of semi-dissolved peppermint tease the edges of my tongue and the sunset soon bleeds red through my curtains. My stomach starts to grumble. Graphs and numbers swim in front of my eyes and I give up, curling into a ball on top of the covers. When the playlist ends, I set it to repeat.
My pillow vibrates and I snap open my eyes. It’s dark and my phone glows bright next to me. The text is from “Ethan”.
Take off your headphones.
Batting them away, I hear Mom and Frank’s distant shouts muffled from their room, then a gentle knock on my door. It isn’t locked. Dan slips in and presses a finger to his lips. Then he turns the lock behind him. I sit up. When he crawls onto my bed, he presses me back down.
His lips close on my neck and I feel him sway against me. On instinct, I rise and fall with him.
“We shouldn’t—” I say.
He stops my mouth with a kiss. “You taste like peppermint.” His breath warms my ear.
Fingers work down the buttons of my blouse, pulling it back so it bunches around my elbows. My strapless bra unclasps behind my back and slips away. When his tongue slides over my nipple, I have to bite my lip.
I want touch his chest, his back, but my arms are caught in a tangle of fabric at my sides. He rolls my underwear down to my knees.
“Is this okay?” he murmurs.
When he circles his fingers over my clit, my shoulders lurch.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes.”
He quiets me again with his lips and rubs faster between my legs. I roll under his weight. Gasps escape my throat, stopped only by his kiss. I would spread my knees but my panties bind them together. One arm slips under my back, around my shoulders, and pulls me tight. A zipper buzzes down. He’s hard against my thigh and I feel a rush of wanting.
“Shh,” he tells my ear. A condom wrapper splits between his teeth.
When he forces into me, I close my teeth around his shoulder, breathing hard against his skin. A moan swells in his chest and he buries it in a mouthful of my neck. I boil for him, wetter and hotter around his cock than ever. He fucks me slow and deep, curving and cresting like a wave on top of me.
With my arms pinned at my sides and my legs twisted in panties, I can’t grasp or writhe. Steam builds without anywhere to go. Passion bubbles behind my tight-pressed lips. Each breath is a sharp sniff as my body burns. Pleasure rattles my lid and I start to lose control.
“I’m gonna come,” I whimper into his ear.
A faint groan trembles in his chest. He closes his hand over my mouth.
“Do it,” he says, pressing down.
The surge comes fiercer and faster than ever, crashing and sizzling through my body. He holds me tighter, fucks me harder while I shudder and quake in his arms. Moans muffle under his fingers. Unable to move, unable to speak, I have no way to let it out. Instead, I have to feel it.
Dan smothers his urgent call in my neck. I feel him flex inside me.
The hand falls away from my mouth and his arms relax. I wriggle free one hand to curl around him. Lying back on our sides, we simmer, brushing hair from each others’ faces. His eyes hold mine, shining in the moonlight.
“Sophia, I—”
A piercing wail blares outside. Sudden lights flash blue and red through my window.
A bullhorn crackles. “Put down your weapon.”
My fingers close around Dan’s arm.
“Ma’am, drop the knife.”
I tear out of bed and shove my arms into a sweatshirt. Stepping into a pair of pajama shorts, I half trip out of the room.
Police lights blaze outside. Clothes and DVDs and the lamp Frank brought with him litter the lawn. He stands with his hands raised in the air. Mom is a silhouette in the headlights, kitchen knife gripped in her fist.
“Mom,” I cry and my voice cracks.
Dan’s arm loops around me and the knife drops to the grass.
“On your knees, ma’am.”
Officers advance as she kneels. An owlish cop with a gray crew cut peers at me. His eyes shine topaz.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters.